The Triple Spiral
by DamRaccoon
Summary: So, I guess it started off as a normal day for me. Well, as normal as it could be. The next thing I know, I've stormed out of the house and am jogging towards Nottingham with a blue eyed stranger. Weird, right? Rated T for language (and I'm basically paranoid) and it gets a lil' bit gory in later chapters but I'll put a warning in the A/N. OC/Allan (?)
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Hiya! Okay, so this is my very first Fanfiction that I've been writing since about April 2014. I've written about eight chapters so far (I know it doesn't seem like an awful lot but they're about the same length as this chapter _and_ I kinda lost interest around the September mark and have been procrastinating like a pro ever since) I'll definitely try and not make the chapters as long as this one, so I guess you'll be glad about that. In the first few chapters not a lot really happens, but they just kind of set the scene a little bit so please, please, pleeease don't give up on it! I've tried really hard not to make my OC a Mary-Sue and I'm pretty sure I've written certain other people horribly OOC. I would mean the absolute world to me if you commented and give me some feed back to let me know if I should actually write more. Thank you so, so, sooooo much for even clicking on this Fanfiction. Xx -DamRaccoon**

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><p>The bright sunlight spilled through the bedroom window directly into my eyes, waking me from the hazy world of sleep. It was just leaving Spring and the sun continued to wake me up earlier and earlier each morning as Summer crept steadily closer. I pulled off my thin woollen blanket and sat up on my bed, looking over at my sleeping sister, Lynette.<p>

She was so beautiful when she was sleeping; the golden waves of her hair were fanned out over her pillow creating a blond halo around her pale face, long dark eyelashes brushed down, lightly touching the highest part of her elegantly curved cheekbones and her deep pink lips were parted slightly as if someone had just surprised her. Of course, scowling never improves anyone's appearance, which happens to be all my older sister ever does these days.

I slid off my bed onto the uneven wooden floor and started to examine myself in the full length mirror on the opposite side of the room. It technically belongs to Lynette but what she doesn't know won't kill her, right?

I was about average height, but since Lynette and both my parents were weirdly tall, I was the shortest in my family. In comparison to my older sister's slim and willowy build, I was curvier and had larger hips and a small-ish waist. I had short legs and a long back- earning me the nickname 'Duckie' from my father- and I was definitely, by no stretch of the imagination, pretty. My dirty blonde hair, that always seemed to be in the state of a birds nest and hung limply down to my shoulder blades and my face was an odd, sort of square shape with, both, jutting cheekbones and jaw bone. I had squinty eyes and arching eyebrows which contrasted harshly with each other and my mouth looked far too big for my face, making me look like a duck. I felt a sharp pang of jealousy in my chest, _why couldn't I look like my sister? _

I pulled a face in the mirror and struggled to stifle a fit of giggles. Lynette would kill me if I woke her; she's always so grouchy these days. She says I act too much like a child but I thing _she_ acts too much like an adult, it would do her good to loosen up a bit.

I peered out of the bedroom window at the bottom of Lynette's bed and watched as the sleepy village began to waken; people opening shutters, spreading chicken feed and packing things up to take into the city to try and sell, small children scampered about running errands for their parents as the sun rose steadily over the thatched rooftops, creating a silhouette of the chimneys and pointed roofs. Tiny birds skimmed the bluebell sky, flitting to and fro from tree to tree and occasionally diving into the dense forest that surrounded out village.

My stomach gave a loud growl and I struggled not to burst out laughing again. _Oh God, _I was going to need to hurry. My stomach's outburst had reminded that I had told father that I would bring breakfast down to the workshop.

I tore my eyes away from the beautiful view of our village and tip-toed back over to my side of the room. I reached under my bed and pulled out a large flat lidless box, which held the majority of my clothes. I picked out my standard work clothes, also the only clothes mother approved of for a 'young lady'; an itchy, brown dress, a baggy, threadbare, white tunic and a thin, leather belt.

The dresses mother bought for me annoyed the life out of me. They were too long and impractical and I kept on tripping over the hem, which may be down to the fact that I am probably one of the clumsiest people to ever have 'graced' the earth.

The only reason I haven't actually burned all the dresses I own is because mother swore that she would never let me leave the house in anything _but _a dress.

She's never been too fond of father for letting me work and help him at the workshop, claiming that it's an unladylike practise and that I should spend my time doing things that I will actually use in the future like embroidery and dancing. When mother told me this I laughed, a lot. I would much rather be making weapons, which even includes the blisters and the burns and suffer the cramp I often get in my shoulders, than even attempt to memorise poetry. She wasn't very happy when I told her that, she forbade me from leaving the house for a week.

I finished getting dressed and pulled my forest green cloak over my shoulders then returned to the mirror to try and tame my knotted hair. I wrestled my hair into a disastrous plait then coiled it up on top of my head, securing it in place with two hairpins. I normally dislike hair accessories but these double up as daggers. For my 14th birthday I had wanted a proper weapon that I could carry around unnoticed, so father decided to make me these. Apparently, my face was hilarious when I opened the small box and saw the hair pins. At first glance they had looked like something Lynette would wear but when father had told me to take a closer look I saw the sheen of the razor sharp blade and instantly understood. They've been one of my most treasured possessions from them on.

I grabbed my worn leather satchel off of the bed post and the money pouch from my bedside table. I poured out the contents; five silver coins winked at me from my palm, more than enough for a loaf of bread. Since none of the staff were up as early as father and I, I usually bought us a loaf of bread each morning which usually lasted us for the rest of the day. I secured the money bag to my belt, after putting the coins back in and walked over to the window, satchel slung over my shoulder. I looked down to check that the cart of hay was underneath the window, which it was, and climbed up onto the window ledge- _bang. _

_Shit, _I thought and braced myself for Lynette 'melodic' morning tones. "For Gods _sake _Ryia," she grumbled sleepily, now sitting bolt upright and glaring at my through bleary eyes. "Can't you just go out the front door like a normal person?"

"Where's the fun in that?" I answered innocently, rubbing my forehead which I'd just clattered on top of the windowsill.

"You won't be saying that when Mother finds out that you're still jumping out of the window in the morning." She still managed to sound smug, even at the crack of dawn.

I rolled my eyes as I unlatched the window. "Whatever ..." I mumbled. She gave a triumphant grunt before slumping back onto her bed. I didn't exactly want to think what Mother would do if she found out that I was still jumping out of the window in the morning. I mean, she can't complain really, she always used to tell me off when I would 'stomp' through the hallways in the morning and waken her and Lynette up so clearly leaping from the window in the morning was the next best option but according to Mother I smell of hay when I come home in the evenings and she doesn't even want to imagine what I would smell like during the day ... disgrace to the family ... unladylike ... etcetera, etcetera.

I took a calming breath as I looked down and a knot of fear built up in my chest, the warm morning air filling my lungs. It was very high, it's definitely hard to deny that, I swallowed, closed my eyes and jumped.

I landed in the cart with a loud _thump_. Heck, if Lynette wasn't already fully awake, she sure would be now.

The air was heavy with the smells of dew, animal droppings and freshly baked bread coming from the baker's on the outskirts of the village. I hurried in between the houses, dodging clusters of chickens and through someone's garden, not wanting to guess the time, until I reached the baker's. I knocked on the weather beaten, wooden door. It was Ida, the baker's wife that answered. She was a short plump woman in her early thirties that always seemed to have something to say.

"Ryialyn Monroe!" Ida greeted me. I desperately wanted to correct her and say how much I disliked my full name. Seriously, it's so posh! And that's not even including my 3 middle names. I have no idea about what my Mother was thinking when she named me ...

"Hi." I smiled and gave a small, slightly awkward, wave.

"Don't you fret, my love, they're nearly ready." she said, pulling out a tray of five, crusty loaves of bread from the large stone oven that took up most of the back wall. She sat them down to cool as I leaned against the doorframe, fiddling with the strap of my satchel.

"How's your father doing?" she asked, busying herself around the kitchen. I had honestly no idea that the woman could move so fast. She was like a whirlwind, seeming to alternate between wiping various work surfaces and brushing the, already spotless, flagstone floor.

"Oh ... I ... Yeah, he's fine ..." I coughed. The conversation hung awkwardly. According to both Mother and Lynette, I hadn't been blessed by 'the Goddess of Socialising", whatever that meant.

"Good," she said, clearly not knowing how to reply to my vague answer. "Good ... Yes ... I don't know if you would've heard but our James has got a job!" I nodded and planted a smile on my face, trying to look mildly interested. "Yes," Ida continued. "He's training to become a guard for the Sherriff ... Great man he is, that Sherriff, great man ... James gets such good pay."

I looked at Ida with a look of total bemusement, only becoming full aware of what she was saying at the end of her ramble. The Sherriff? A great man? She clearly doesn't get out much and see the starving families that line Nottingham's streets, or the hangings that go on practically every day or, the poor people that get their limbs cut off for committing a petty crime purely to stop their families from starving to death. The Sherriff she knows must be a completely different man from the man that the rest of Nottingham knows. As Ida continued to witter on, hot bursts of anger bubbled in my chest and I wished more and more that the damned bread would hurry up and finish cooling before I threw something at the demented woman.

"Yes, such a great man ... and what about that good for nothing Robin Hood? Wreaking havoc for the people who feed and clothe us ..." I restrained myself from pointing out that the Nobles did nothing but sit around on their arses and raise our taxes and _we_ were the ones that fed and clothed ourselves. Mother was good friends with Ida and her husband, it's not my place to offend them.

I forced a smile onto my face and handed her the money for the bread. I tucked the loaf safely into my satchel, said good-bye and practically sprinted out of the front door. The walk through our tiny village was a short one and before long I had reached the edge of the forest. _God_, I thought, _Ida has some twisted views. _I began walking down the crooked and narrow pathway, one of the quickest shortcuts into Nottingham

In the morning light, the trees cast an emerald green glow into forest, turning everything a gorgeous shade of green. The brown leaves were like a rug under my leather boots and made quiet crunching sounds with every step I took. The faint chirps from the birds and the rustling of the unseen woodland creatures could be heard from the forest floor. With nothing to distract me but the sounds of the forest and the steady rhythm of my feet, my thoughts began to wander back to my family.

I wouldn't say that my family life was bad, more ... difficult. Mother has always insisted that Lynette and I grow up to be 'proper young ladies'. Lynette's never seemed to have a problem with that and she's never batted an eyelid at the thought of being married off to some Duke or Lord, or being told that she must learn embroidery and dancing, or even wearing dresses. My talents, on the other hand, lie in the more 'violent' field of sword fighting and weapon making, and from a young age apparently protested to being prodded and poked like some bloody bird waiting to be roasted. I slump in chairs, _loathe_ wearing dresses and the thought of being married off to some stuffy Duke makes my want to throw up. I only wish Mother could see that. I prefer spending my time doing useful things, rather than sitting at home embroidering dresses that I'll never wear. Over the past couple of years, Father's been teaching me how to use a sword which, I'll admit is one of the few things keeping me sane right now as Mother's trying harder and harder to get me to act like ... well, act like Lynette. Mother is, of course, oblivious to Father's lessons. If she ever found out, I doubt she would ever let me leave the house again.

I walked over the bridge into Nottingham, nodding politely to the two soldiers guarding the entrance. By the time I reached to city, I'd only fallen over my dress a total of 4 times.

I found it hard to believe, as I walked through the streets of the city, what a bright, happy place it used to be when I was growing up. In the few short years of the new Sherriff running Nottingham, our city has changed so much-and not for the better. Wednesday, once a busy Market Day; now, the silence in the streets was deafening and the only noises breaking the stillness was the scrabbling of starving dogs and the whimpers of skeletal children crying for the food that they'll never get. Hunched old men waited with the cats and vermin next to the butchers, ready to fight tooth and nail for even a lick of a bone. Absolute aberration pulsed through my veins with every heartbeat.

I walked through the endless labyrinth of street, deliberately scattering a few coins as Father had told me to, in hope that those who need them will eventually find them., until I eventually reached Father's workshop. Though many businesses have perished, Father's hasn't. The irony was almost painful. We practically had money to burn, far more clothes than we needed and enough food to last us months at a time and the Sherriff couldn't order enough weapons. Then there were others whose businesses were drying up, children slowly starving to death and the Sherriff did nothing but sit back and raise the taxes.

I walked into the workshop, feeling totally miserable after the walk through the city. The heat hit me as soon as the door had opened, along with the familiar smell of sweat and molten metal. I looked down at my satchel, fiddling with its clasp in an attempt at opening it, when I tripped over my dress and fell into a hooded figure who had been speaking to my Father.

"You alright, love?" the hooded man asked. He held me by my shoulders, stopping me from toppling over again.

I looked up at his and the first thing I noticed was that he was exceptionally good-looking. The second was that his bright blue eyes would easily put a summer's sky to shame. And the third was that he had his eyebrow raised; I noticed with a jolt that I had been staring at him, my mouth gaping like a fish. I had to look up to see him, the top of my head barely reaching his chin. Stubble coated the lower half of his face, thicker over his upper lip and chin. He had a long, crooked nose and was smiling brightly. I got the distinct feeling that he was laughing at me.

"I'm ... Um ... I'm, uh, fine..." I stammered, blood rushing to my cheeks. I gave a nervous laugh and tried to stand up. I opened my mouth to speak and tripped over my feet. I let out a small yelp and my arms propelled around like blades of a windmill, attempting to grab onto something. My hands came in contact with the man's cloak and in the spur of the moment I gripped on with all my strength, pulling us both to the ground with all the grace of a toppling tree. God, if I thought I was embarrassed before, that barely made a dent on what I was feeling now. "Agh! Sorry, sorry, sorry!" I said. Screwing up my face, visibly cringing, but to my surprised the man just laughed. "Can't keep your hands off me, can you?"

At his words, I started blushing again as I pulled myself to my feet. "Uh, I'm ... I'm not usually that clumsy..."

Father, who was now at the opposite end of the room tidying away a set of hammers, gave an audible snort but covered it quickly with a fake fit of coughing. He knew better than anyone else that I was clumsier than a drunkard on St Patrick's Day. Father walked back over to us and placed a hand on my shoulder. "Ryia, why don't you go and start cutting the bread. This ... Uhm, gentleman and I were just about to finish trading."

I raised an eyebrow at him but he replied with a stern look. As I walked through to the next room I deliberately kept my eyes to the floor, avoiding the blue eyed man's gaze.. I closed the door behind me, took the bread out of my satchel and set it down, then pressed my ear to the door. Father has never sent me out of the room when he's making a deal with someone before in fact, he actually encouraged it, saying it was a learning experience or something. He clearly didn't want me to hear something, meaning that there's even _more_ of a reason for me to listen in to his conversation. The door was quite thin, making it easy for me to listen.

"Okay," said Father wearily. "That's three swords and a bag if arrow heads."

"Thanks, mate." There was a pause. "Does she know ... anything ...?"

I felt a burst of indignation. _Mate, I'm probably 10 times smarter than you are on a bad day. _

_"_No," said Father grimly. "I thought it was best not to tell her anything, for her own safety. So that I'm the only one getting hanged."

"Listen, mate-"

Father cut him off. "You need your weapons. I need the money."

"Right." The sound of a money bag being passed. "See you around ..."

Footsteps, then the thud of a closing door. Father let out a long tired sigh and made his way across the room towards me. I scrambled up, off against the door and began to cut the bread quickly, in rough uneven slices. My heart hammered in my chest as Father opened the door. A million question whirled around in my head: _Who the Hell is this hooded guy? WHY the Hell would Father be getting hanged? What does any of this have to do with me? _

I stopped cutting the bread and turned to face Father. "Why would you be getting hanged?" The words came out as barely a whisper but Father heard, the look of total shock and fear covering his face gave it away. "Duckie ... I-"

"Please," I asked, cutting him off. "Just tell me why. There could be something I could do or- or some sort of way that I could help you ..."

Father's face was now a blank canvas, wiped clear of all emotion like a stark, staring dummy. The tension in the room could have been cut with a knife. Father opened his mouth, quivering like a piece of unused machinery. "How much ... of that conversation did you hear?"

"N-not much." The lie fell from my tongue. _Stupid, stupid, _I thought. If I'd just told the truth, maybe I could have helped, maybe I could save-

Father let out a sigh of relief. "It's not for your ears, Duckie, put it out of your mind." I opened my mouth to argue but the look on Father's face said it all, _Please don't, Ryia, please. _

And against my better nature, I did as I was told.

Father took by hand in his rough, blistered one and led me to the back of the stiflingly hot workshop; past the wooden benches that seemed to be permanently cluttered with old weapons, new weapons, tools for _making_ weapons, the walls that were covered with every toll imaginable and the swords and various other things that hung from the low, stone ceiling and the large, burning furnace that took up most of the back wall. He was hunched slightly as he walked, probably trying to avoid the razor sharp blades that hung from the ceiling.

Father was a huge, hulking man, head and shoulders taller than most people in the city. He was heavily padded with muscles from a life time of working as a blacksmith. He had bright, happy green eyes that laughed when he smiled and rough, tanned skin, the only two features that I inherited from him. Dark brown stubble coated his jaw, much like the hooded man's, which melted into his shoulder length hair. As scary as he looked he was just about as dangerous as a butterfly.

He stopped sharply in front of a table, holding (you guessed it) more tools and weapons, causing me to walk straight into his back.

"Owww ..." I whined, rubbing my nose. Father barely noticed as he unhooked something that was dangling from the ceiling. He prodded it wearily, like he was testing it to see if it was dry. Apparently it was as he gave a small smile and held out his palm for me to see.

I was a pendant, silver and attached to a worn piece of black string; The Triple Spiral, a Celtic symbol ... but I couldn't remember what of. The spirals, joined together by their tails. In the middle of the joining was a small red stone- a ruby.

I stared at it gaping like a fish, unfortunately not for the first time today. "It's beautiful." Were the only words I could manage.

This is definitely not the first time I've seen jewellery. Both Mother and Lynette have boxes full of jewellery at home but they were far too heavy, clunky and they got in the way of everything. This necklace, however, was more to my taste. The pendant itself was no bigger that a large coin and with Father's handiwork I knew the stone would never fall off and drop into my food. I adored the simplicity of its design and it could be hidden easily, not that I'd ever want to hide it.

"For you." Father smiled, holding his palm out for me to take it. I took it and placed it over my head; it was the perfect size, the Triple Spiral sat just below my collarbone. "Thank you, I grinned. "But why?"

"It means power," Father answered, staring at the corner of the room as though in a trance. "Female power. Your Mother, I know, has been giving you a hard time recently, 'preparing' for you to get married, forcing you to learn how to sew, to cook, to raise a child and to be a loyal, loving wife." The words stung. A wife? My Mother wanted me to be married? I'm only just turning sixteen next week ... I don't want to be a bride this young, I don't want to be a bride _ever! _

Father seeing the look on my face hastily continued, "But I don't want you to go through that, not when you're this young. This pendant is my way of saying that there is always hope and strength and courage, and all of that comes from in here," he prodded my chest. "Inside you."

I could only nod as I felt a lump growing in my throat. This was more than just a pendant to me, I don't know if Father could see that, it was his way of giving me a little bit of freedom, and hope for the future.

Father smiled and straightened up, wiping his eyes. "It's the smoke in here, really got to get something done about that ... Now come, Duckie, the Sherriff has ordered more than a dozen swords for next week. Let us have breakfast and continue with our work."

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><p><strong>Wow. You actually read all that ...<strong>

**Thank you. *wipes tear from eye* **


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Well then, Chapter two! As I said, this one is shorter, about half the length of the last one but the chapter lengths will definitely vary throughout the story. I won't be updating every day, or every couple of days. I think I'm going to try and stick to every Saturday and I'll let you know if I'm busy or ... (Yes, Izzy does have a life.) ... and I can't update. Thank you so much for taking the time to read this. Xxxx -DamRaccoon**

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><p>Father and I walked down the rock strewn path leading towards our village. The silvery moon smiled mindlessly against the inky blue sky and the stars shone like diamonds thrown carelessly across a blue canvas. The world was a peaceful blue and silver patchwork, as the chilly night air nipped at my fingers. All was silent, our footsteps the only gentle noses to break the blanket of calm that seemed to envelope the world. It wasn't hard to see our village, a golden glowing sun against the night's backdrop. Candles flickered faintly from the windowsills of the houses; a warm, definite flame in the night.<p>

This particular night reminded my of one of my most favourite childhood memories. I loved it because, with Father's help, I was able to transform something so dull and so mundane into something that was so positively magical. It filled me with so much joy as a child, it made me believe in innocence when I thought back on it.

I could only have been five, maybe six, at the time. It was a night like this, a silver and blue _otherworldly _place with the magical, shining stars so high above our heads. Father had carried me in his arms, holding me as he once did when I was a baby. "Look," he would say. "Look, Duckie, up on the hill ..." Then he would point to the hill, and through bleary, tired eyes I would look, hanging onto is every word. "See that Ry? That's where the Fairies live."

I would sleepily squeal with excitement. "Can we see the Fairies, Papa? Can we go and visit the Fairies tonight?"

"Not tonight, Duckie ..." He whispered.

I had sighed and nuzzled back into arm. Though I had so badly wanted to go and see the Fairies; I was just too tired.

I knew Father was remembering this too, as in the pale moonlight I saw him give a small, sad smile for the days that had passed.

We approached our house, it's colossal frame casting a murky shadow across the village. Mother designed it; three floors in total, the basement and kitchen, or the staff's floor, the ground floor and the top floor, both for the family- Father, Mother, Lynette and I. She wanted it to be as stylish as possible, the ground floor was entirely made out of stone but with wooden panelling and tapestries covering the walls, rugs and skins decorating the floors and specially made wooden furniture dotted throughout the rooms. The top floor was practically identical, except with numerous bedrooms instead of the drawing rooms, dining rooms, sitting rooms ... I want to love it, I really do, but the poison and deceit that lies within the bricks is too hard to ignore.

Father kindly opened the door for me, stepping back to allow me to enter first. The heat welcomed me home, but it wasn't a loving warmth like I felt every time I entered the workshop, it was more like I had just stepped into the mouth of some, huge, ferocious creature; fangs pared, saliva dripping, right into the belly of the beast.

A girl, she could only have been a couple of years younger than me, curtsied to Father and I, a polite smile painted on her child like face. _Lynette's new maid ... _I guessed, Lynette had been harping on about how she needed someone to help her dress in the morning. I had original offered, but then I remembered that I had no idea how to lace up a corset, do any of Lynette's fancy hairstyles or ... anything to do with being a _lady_ for that matter.

She stepped forward gracefully, almost like a dancer, and held out her hand. "Can I take your cloaks?"

"I ... Yes, thank you." I smiled at her and handed her both Father's cloak and my own. _Of course Lynette would only have the prettiest, most angelic child as her maid ... _I thought. I vaguely wondered how much they paid the family of this poor girl for them to take their daughter away from them.

"Where's ..." started Father.

"They're through here." The girl answered, almost as if she knew what he was going to say.

She directed us through to the sitting room. "Oh dear," she gasped. "There's no chairs! My apologies, I'll find you some immediately"

I opened my mouth, about to say that she didn't need to bother and that neither Father nor I minded standing, but she had already scurried off. Mother and Lynette were close to the roaring fire, embroidering a snowy white silk cloak with sparkling silver thread. It looked, quite literally, like a blanket of frost. Draped over Mother's dress and over Lynette's shoulder, though dresses and silk and sparkling threads weren't my thing, this one was certainly something else.

Lynette's maid hurried back in through the open door carrying two, small, velvet covered stools in her arms. She placed them down besides Mother and Lynette, curtsied and practically sprinted out of the room, closing the door behind her. Father and I exchanged a look, _What the Hell is up with her? _and sat down on the stools.

"You won't be going with your Father tomorrow morning." Mother said, not even glancing up. I glared over at my older sister, she's such a suck up. She tells Mother everything, if I burp too loudly, eat too quickly, laugh too loudly, 'forget' to wear a dress, rip my clothes, tear a tapestry, dodge going to church or, on this occasion, jumping out of the bedroom window and disturbing Lynette from her precious beauty sleep- not that she needs it.

Lynette raised an eyebrow, looking mildly confused. I rolled my eyes; well, maybe if Mother heard my side of the story she'll only ban me from leaving the house for five days instead of a week.

"Fine Mother, you caught me! But at least listen, okay?" I took a deep breath and began talking faster than I think I've ever talked before. "Lynette was being _really_ moody this morning anyway, so she was probably over exaggerating whatever story she told you and to be honest I thought you would prefer it because you told me not to be so loud and I know you don't like me smelling of hay but-"

"Ryia," Mother cut in sharply. "Stop wittering and listen, I have some wonderful news!" She set aside her embroidery and turned slightly to face me, back straight, knees together; the posture of a proper lady.

For some reason I felt ill, a sort of writhing sensation in my stomach of total dread. _This can't be good ..._

"Tomorrow morning," Mother continued. "We shall be travelling up to Edinburgh to meet the Earl of Norwood and his son, we'll discuss your engagement-"

"Engagement?!" I cried in horror. My voice came out in a strangled squeak, I felt like I had bee struck with a white hot poker. "I ... I haven't even met him and you want me to get _married_?! You cannot be serious!"

Anger pulsed through my veins, my breathes came out in heavy pants. The was no way she could do this! There was no way- I looked over at Father who was looking at Mother as though she had just grown another head. "Beatrix," he gasped. "This is insanity! Ryia is only fifteen-"

"She is turning sixteen in a weeks time." Said Mother indifferently, her cold grey eyes scanning the room.

Lynette was simply watching us all, eyebrow still raised. She clearly found our arguing over whether or not I'm to be married off at the grand old age of sixteen rather dull. She sighed and shifted position, preparing to speak. "I really don't see what all the fuss is about," Father looked at her incredulously, one hand placed on my shoulder, I'm guessing to stop me from doing anything too rash. "_I've_ been engaged since I was fourteen and _I'm _not complaining." Mother gave my a thin smile and squeezed Lynette's hand. The look of pride was evident of her face, the look of smugness evident on my sister's.

"You see, Ryialyn, you should be more like your sister. _She_ appreciates the effort that I put in to making you into lovely young ladies, and soon lovely young brides-"

"Mother-!"

"Beatrix-"

Mother silenced us. "You girls will be good wives one day; living in a castle, married to a rich husband-" she glared slightly at father. "- and having lots of lovely little children!"

My stomach gave an unpleasant jolt at the word 'children'. "No way! I'm _never_ getting married! And I'm _definitely _not having children! I don't want to stay cooped up in a castle all day, I want to do things with my life-"

"Ha!" Mother laughed snidely. "What sorts of things? Playing with swords and hammers all day? Running ragged around the woods until dawn-"

"No, no wait!" Lynette interjected, laughter clouding her words. "_I _know! She'll pretend to be an Outlaw like Robin Hood!"

I could feel my cheeks burning. "I could! I could be an Outlaw! It'd be better than getting married to any stupid Duke or- or Earl from bloody Norkwool-"

"Don't be so stupid!" Mother snapped, not a trace of humour left in her voice. "You are a young lady! Young ladies cannot be Outla-"

"I could do anything _any_ man could do!"

There was silence. Mother gave me a frosty glare and I felt my stomach plummet; _I'm so dead ... _Father gave me a small smile out of the corner of my eye, but I didn't dare break eye contact with Mother, not even for a second. That's what you do with wild dogs, isn't it? Don't break eye contact ... All of a sudden, I became very aware of how the silver of my new pendant felt against my skin, heavy and warm and full of strength.

Mother's nostrils flared. "You need to grow up, Ryialyn! You are not a child anymore." A look of pure rage flashed across her face as she stood up, towering above both Father and I.

"This is all your fault!" She snapped at Father, slapping his hand from my shoulder.

He stood up, now looking down on her. "Ryia is her own person and if I just so happened to give her the courage to stand up to you, well then, yes, it is my fault." He spoke so quietly, so softly it was wonder anyone could make him out.

"Father's right! You can't _make_ me go to Edinburgh! You can't_ make _ me get married! I won't- You can't- You can't make me!" I felt as though my entire life was about to come crumbling down around me ... and I was standing here, acting like a stroppy five year old. Mother moved towards me, slowly, slowly like a predator stalking it's prey. She was clearly calculating her next move very, very carefully. Her grey eyes flashed, then-

_Slap! _

My left cheek burned, my hair pins clattered to the floor. I held my palm to my cheek as my hair fell in a matted mess around my shoulders. Mothers face was a contortion of pure and utter hatred. Father cried out with rage. "Don't you _dare _lay another finger on my daughter again!" He pushed me behind him, as if protecting me from Mother's gaze could protect me from feeling the pain. I felt the tears well up in my eyes as I took my hand away from my face. I looked down, my fingers stained crimson with my own blood. Lynette could only stare, her mouth in the shape of a small 'o'. I was shocked at how silent she was, she didn't laugh or make any of her usual snide comments ... or anything. She just sat staring like a life-sized doll.

Mother returned to sitting on her chair, a small smile on her face. She pulled out a beautifully embroidered, white handkerchief and began wiping my blood from her fingers. "While you are in this house you will do _exactly_ as I say." She regarded me with a satisfactory smirk, around Father's bulky frame. "And I say," her grin widening as she continued. "That you will go upstairs this instant and pack your bags because we are leaving tonight."

I stared blankly at the smears of blood on my hand, as if they were going to give me all the answers I needed. There was a pregnant pause as the words hung in the air, drifting around the room like smoke from a fireplace.

Mother studied me carefully; watching and waiting, to see what my next move would be. She thinks she's won, she thinks she has me caught in her trap with no escape.

Well, she's wrong.

I took a deep breath, working up enough courage for what I was going to say next. I placed a hand on Father's shoulder and looked up at him, hoping he would see the apology on my face. "Well," I said, my voice shaking. "I- I'm not going to stick around here any longer."

Mother forwards towards me, her hand aiming for my throat. I let out a gasp as I was slammed back, thrown against the stone wall, Mother's hand wedged into my throat. Her mouth was inches from my ear and she began frantically whispering in a low voice as Father tried to pull her away from me. "You are going to be engaged, you little wench, even if I have to drag you down the aisle myself." Her grip faltered slightly as Father grabbed her by the shoulders. "He won't always be around to save y-"

Father ripped Mother away from me, he pulled her back with all his might. She stumbled backwards, toppling over a stool and fell head first into the opposite wall. Her mouth opened, a long strangled shriek ripped through the room, falling silent when her skull contacted with the stone with a sickening _thud_.

* * *

><p><strong><em>Another AN: _Yeah_, boom, _cliff-hanger_. _Mkay_. _****I'd just like to say a huge thank you to _MargretThornton _and _Lady Florance1983 _for your absolutely lovely comments! Just taking the time to write something out that I will read just makes me so happy and just aaaagh *excitement*. **

**So, please let me know what you think of ... Well, how the story's turning out, I guess.**


	3. Chapter 3

I looked deep into Fathers eyes and knew that he was all too aware of what he had just done.

"I'm- I'm sorry." I managed, before I ran out the sitting room door and darted out of the house. I slammed the door shut, but it didn't stop Father's shouts from becoming louder and louder or Lynette's piercing screams that seemed to kill me a little inside.

I was shocked, scared and very confused, so, I did what I always did when I felt lost; I ran. I ran to the forest, Father's panicked cries echoing in my skull.

I half jogged down the twisting path into the woods. My ragged breathes and shaky footsteps the only sounds distracting me from breaking the dam that was stopping my tears from flowing freely.

The moon continued to cast the silvery streaks of light from in between the gaps in the leaves, lighting the path for me. I started to stroll off the path that I knew so well, passing between trees and over mounds towards my favourite place in the whole world. Ever since we moved to Nottingham I have been warned of the Outlaws so often that I'm beginning to think that I know the stories of them better than they know themselves.

Though, after what just happened I'm not too sure I actually care whether or not I get my throat slit. I climbed up the familiar leave covered hill and stopped at the top where the old oak tree waited to greet me; exactly the same as the last time I was here. The old tree clung to the ground, teetering on the edge of a sudden drop which led down, into a small valley, where my village resided. I walked closer to the edge. Even in the dim light of the moon I could make out to deep holes and thin gashes that decorated the tree, smiling at me. I smiled back, wincing as my left cheek burned.

This was where I first learned how to fight, the endless hours of Father tirelessly teaching me how to hold a sword properly, then later how to swing it to ensure maximum damage and now, knife throwing, which I still haven't gotten a hang of yet.

Thinking of Father felt like reopening hour old wounds; _What am I going to do now?_

I stood looking over the valley, desperately trying to work out my next move.

_Should I go back home? I did just say that I wasn't going to live there anymore ... So there's __**no **__way I could go back. But if I can't go back where can I go? I highly doubted that anyone would let me stay with them in the city. And as for the families from the neighbouring villages, they were far too poor to support themselves, let alone another person. The forest? Could I __**live **__in the forest? I practiced duelling out here with Father often enough and I suppose I can climb trees when I try ... No, Father was the one with the knowledge, he pointed out which berries were poisonous and which ones could keep me full for a week. Father ... What's Father going to do? _

I instantly felt terrible. Guilt squashed me down like a tonne of stones. I leaned against by beautifully bashed tree and sighed, still staring at the 'Fairy Village'.

_Here I am, _I thought miserably, _Running about the forest and being far too over dramatic, when my Father, my amazing, kind, wonderful, intelligent Father is in one of the worst positions, no man should ever have to be in. This could be bad, this could be really, really bad ... If Mother wakes up, she could easily go to the Sherriff and get him to arrest Father on grounds of abuse and if she doesn't ...? I dread to think what could happen to Father. Would Lynette go? Would Lynette get the Sherriff to arrest Father for a murder which he didn't commit? I'm just as much to blame as Father is ..._

These thoughts spun around in my head, whirling around, fast and dizzy like a child's spinning toy. I felt the tears spill over in frustration and I slammed my fist against the tree trunk. _Owww ... _

I remembered, when I got frustrated with him lecturing me about holding a sword properly he would always say, "If you must hit something; hit the tree ..."

So, that's what I did. I fumbled around for my sword, hidden deep within the rabbit hole at the wide base of the tree. I grabbed onto the hilt and pulled it out, as I had done every week for the past five ... no, six years. Anger boiled in my stomach, curling up and blistering my chest, wrapping it's scalding fingers around my throat. I took a loud, ragged breath and swung my sword at the tree with as much strength as I could muster. The tears rolled down my face, stinging my cut cheek and turning it and even uglier shad of maroon. The blade had stuck into the tree; I pulled hard to free the sword and swung again and again and again, like I had done so many times with Father's guidance, except this time, Father was at home ... The guilt hit me again.

Each swing hit the tree with a satisfying _clang. _

"The tree must've done somethin' pretty bad to deserve that."

I nearly dropped the sword with shock. I whirled around, pointing the sword out in front of my chest. The owner of the voice stood in front of me, about an arm's length away from the tip of my sword. His arms dangled lazily by his sides, but clearly not relaxed enough to drop the blunt dagger he gripped tightly in his right hand. The hood of his cloak caused large shadows to fall over the top half of his face and obscure the bottom half beyond recognition. He grinned, an action that sent shivers down my spine. I barely breathed, not looking away from this ... man in case he caught me off guard. "Wh- who are y-you?" I stuttered. _Why did I have to sound braver in my head ...?_

The man's grin widened. "That's not important," he dismissed, taking a step closer to the tip of my sword so that the point was barely touching his chest. He continued, "The question is, who are _you_?"

I answered him with a glare. The panic in my chest subsided a little, though I was still positively petrified. There was something familiar about him, though I couldn't quite place my finger on it. "You know I could kill you with this?" I asked him. I regretted it as soon as the words were out of my mouth.

_Oh my God, Ryia!, _I thought to myself. _You couldn't have sounded more idiotic if you tried._

"Well, that's what you usually do with a sword, isn't it?" He replied with a casual shrug. He threw his knife, up into the air and caught the blade in his hand. I wasn't really sure what to make of that. Maybe he was warning me that he had a knife and knew how to use it, or maybe he was just an insufferable show-off.

I gripped the handle of my sword tighter, my knuckles turning white. "What do you want?" I demanded, finding my voice.

"I want to know why you're attacking a tree in the middle of the night."

"And how the Hell is that any of your business?" I was scared, bloody Hell, was I scared but my inner, argumentative six year old chose this moment to rear it stroppy head. Apparently, I wasn't in a very cooperative mood.

"What's your name?" he asked, ignoring my question.

"What's yours?" I fired back.

"That's none of your concern. So tell me," he slouched into a more comfortable position. "Why _are_ you attacking a tree, in the dead of night?"

"That's none of _your_ concern. How long have you been watching me for?"

"Why do you want to know?"

"Why won't you tell me?"

"How did a lovely lady, like yourself, get her hands on a sword like that?"

"Were you planning on killing me?"

"Listen, love, we aren't going to get anywhere by answering questions with questions." I know that voice. "Now, let's start off with something simple: What's your name?"

"You were planning on killing me, weren't you?"

He gave a theatrical sigh and threw the knife, spearing a few fallen leaves as it sunk into the dry earth. The man showed me his hands, then placed them behind his head, causing the shadows to cloak his face even more. "See? I'm practically harmless-"

I snorted. "Oh, you _will _excuse me if I don't believe that!"

"What's so bad about answering a couple of questions?" He insisted.

I let out a noise between a snort of disbelief and a gasp of frustration. There was so much wrong with this picture; this guy with a knife, a _knife,_ shows up in a forest in _the middle of the night_ and starts demanding my life story? Besides the feeling of pure unadulterated terror and total disbelief, I sort of wanted to laugh.

His voice. Where did I recognise his voice from?

"I ..." And then it hit me.

It was the hooded man from the workshop this morning.

The same man that I tripped into, pulled to the floor and blushed crimson in front of. _Shit,_ I thought, _at least he doesn't recognise me ... _

My face was now a blotchy, red mess, my matted hair hung loosely over the non-slashed part of my face and I had long claw marks decorating the left part of my face, which happened to be the only visible part. The darkness couldn't help either. It was dark enough for me not to recognise him ... and for him not to recognise me! This was the perfect time to get some answers out of him about this morning.

I felt a pang of guilt in my chest. Father only wanted to keep me safe ...

_If he really wanted to keep you safe, _said a small voice at the back of my head_. He would have given you answers ... _

I suppose, and maybe I could help him! What if I could do something to help him ...

That swung me. That and curiosity. _Well, if I'm going to live on my own, _I thought, _I've got to learn to trust my instincts ... _

"Pull down your hood." I demanded. If I was going to interrogate someone, I'd better make sure it was the right person.

He smirked. "Only if you-"

I jabbed my sword into his chest, he jumped and gave a small yelp. "Who's the one with the sword here?" I asked.

"Alright, alright. Keep your hair on ..."

He pulled the hood away from his head. Moonlight shone on his face, chasing the shadows away and letting me get a better look at him. Yup, it was the same guy. Same piercing blue eyes, same crooked nose and the same laughing smile. I got a decent look at his hair this time, it was a light brown colour, streaked with blonde at the top. It was short and kind of sticky-uppy at the front of his head.

_Now what ...? _

I took a deep breath. "Okay. So _you_'re going to answer some of _my _questions now.

"Yeah right! Like I'm going to-" I jabbed my sword again.

"Okay, _okay_!" He sighed in mock defeat. "What d'ya want to know, love?" The cheeky grin remained on his face and his eyes sparked, almost like he was enjoying himself. Laughter bubbled in my throat; his smile was honestly contagious. He seemed positively relaxed, fingers hooked into his belt loops, slouchy posture and a grin hanging in the middle of his face.

_Focus, Ryia! _I thought.

"Well then," I said shaking myself back to reality. "Let's start off with something simple. What's your name?"

to my utter surprise he answered immediately. "Allan A Dale."

"Okay, 'Allan A Dale', what were you doing this morning?"

"Just wondering 'bout town. " He shrugged. "The usual."

If I didn't know any better, I would have said he was telling the truth he had lied to smoothly. Well, he didn't actually lie, I suppose ...

"What _specifically _ were you doing this morning?"

"Why do you want to know?" His grin widening.

"Urgh!" I growled in frustration. "Will you just tell me!"

"No."

"I have a sword!" Jabbing it at him again.

He danced swiftly out of the sword's way. "I'm very pleased for you."

"Agh!" I snapped, swiping at him. "You are _the_ most infuriating, stubborn-"

"Attractive."

"What?"

"You missed attractive."

I paused in disbelief. "You are a complete ars-"

"Look love, this has been fun, but alas," he stared at the sky and placed a hand over his heart. "I have places to be."

He turned around and began walking away. I swung my sword but he whirled around on the spot and blocked my sword with his own.

_How the hell did you not see his sword? _

"That's _really_ not a good idea, love."

"Oh yeah?" I stepped back and ducked, kicking out towards his shin. He stumbled slightly and swung at me. My sword blocked his, both mere inches from my face. I lifted my knee in an attempt at kicking him in the stomach but wobbled and collapsed onto my back. I quickly crawled out of the way as he tried to cut my arm and got to my feet. I sliced his shoulder while he was bent and hopped out the way while he thrashed about wildly in my direction. I dodged again and rolled to the side, scrambling to my feet, waiting for him to make the next move. He clutched his shoulder and winced slightly. "You're not bad ... for a girl." He grinned. "Listen, as I said; I've got places to be sp-"

"No, you can't!" I lunged and grabbed onto his cloak. This was my one chance to get answers and there was no way I was going to let this guy, who could potentially be a goldmine of information , slip through my fingers as though he was a handful of dry sand. "You are not going anywhere until you give me some answers?"

"What ... Who the Hell are you?!" He demanded. I shook my head. If I told him who I was there was no way he'd tell me anything. I _had_ to find out, Father could be in danger. "Let go of my cloak!"

I shook my head again. He rolled his eyes as if to say "_Really? You're being that immature_" and with a small flick of his sword he sent my own one flying out of my hand and soaring off into the woods.

I blinked and felt my stomach drop as the glittering sliver of steel disappeared into the mess of darkness and trees that surrounded us. In less than five seconds my sword, my first sword, that Father had made for me, that had first given me a little bit of hope and had shown me that I could do so much more that do my Mother's bidding, had disappeared into the forest to be rotted away by time. I felt as though I'd just lost a limb. That was the only sword I'd ever trained with, what if I couldn-

A pair of hands grabbed my roughly by the shoulders and slammed me up against the old oak tree, a sharp blade pressing against my throat.

I looked at Allan in front of me, his mouth was moving but I didn't hear what- No, I wasn't listening to what he was saying. His words swam in and out of focus as he grabbed a handful of my hair. "Right, you got a look at me, let's get a look at you."

_I should probably tell him that that sounded a lot more pervy than he probably meant it to ..._

"Ow ..." I grumbled as my hair was pulled roughly out of my face, then my tilted so that it was lit up by the moon. I stared blankly up at Allan, vaguely wondering what his reaction would be like. I watched as a look of confusion passed across his face, then quickly morphing into one of pure horror. I finally focused onto what was happening as I heard my name.

"Ryialyn?"

"Ryia." I corrected automatically. "How d'you-" I shoved him a bit. "How d'you know my name?"

"Bugger." He swore, dropping me and his sword like hot pieces of coal. He slapped his hands on his forehead and sat down on one of the larger roots of the tree, a look of total regret on his face. I stood awkwardly, massaging my neck which now had a small cut in it. _Thanks, Allan _...

I should probably leave him, let him have an epiphany on his own and return to my own troubles. I still didn't get the answers that I was looking for though ...

I sighed and flopped down next to him. "What is it?"

"Your Father's going to kill me."

"Oh really? And why would that be?"

He chuckled lifelessly. "I can't tell you that."

_Dammit ... _

I smiled politely. "Sorry about your shoulder, by the way."

"I ... what ... It's fine."

I leaned back and glanced at the gash. "Ohhh, that looks bad. It's bleeding a lot ..."

"It'll be fine."

"... you could die of blood-loss if it keeps going like this ..."

"It'll be fine."

"... or it could get infected ..."

"It'll be fine."

"... and go purple and black and start oozing pus ..."

"It'll be-"

"Oh my God, Allan!" I snapped. "You've got a bloody great hole in your back and you're sitting here acting like some brain dead idiot! What the Hell is wrong with you?!"

He sighed again and leaned forward, rubbing his eyes again with the heels of his hands. "I promised your Father that I'd not get you involved with anything. And that I'd stay away from you."

"Jesus, that's it?" I asked, exasperated. He kept his head down and nodded.

"Oh, well. You've talked to me all of two times and now my Father's going to come at you with a carving knife, nice knowing you!"

He laughed, his eyes glowing with humour.

"You haven't actually told me anything, you know." I reminded him, slight bitterness creeping into my tone.

"Yeah," He argued, his face growing serious again. "You're bound to ask questions though, ain't you?"

"Definitely." I agreed.

"There see! So-"

"So, you're really going to be totally defenceless against my womanly charms?" I added, the sarcasm rolling off my tongue.

He laughed again. "Well, I don't think-"

"What are you wearing?"

"_What? _Are you going to keep interrupting me or-"

"That, around your neck!" I said, pointing at the pendant he was wearing. "What is it?"

"Shit." He said and went back to rubbing his eyes with the heels of his hands. "It's nothing ... it's nothing."

I leaned forwards and placed the tag in the palm of my hand. It was made of a small piece of rectangular, brown wood. The corners were curved and in the middle there was an engraving; a circle with a very crude representation of a bow and arrow in the centre.

And everything clicked into place. "Oh God."

Allan pulled the tag from around his neck, ripping it from my hands and unceremoniously shoved it into his pocket.

"Holy shit!" I gasped. "How the Hell did I not even realise-"

"Agh, uhm, you know, I think you were right about this shoulder-"

"-you're part of Robin Hood's gang and I didn't even realise-"

"Oh, yeah, this shoulder has turned nasty-"

"-you're an Outlaw! And my Father has been making deals with you-"

"I could really use a hand cleaning this out, you know-"

"-and giving you weapons-"

"Oh look, and it's turned purple. I guess you were right-"

"-and he's probably going to get hanged for it!"

"He's going to kill me!"

All my emotions went into overdrive; excitement, confusion, anger, fear.

"Oh God." I said again. I felt the tears well up. _There is no way you are going to cry. I swear to God if you cry ..._

I stood up and strode over to the tree. I took a deep breath and swung my fist into the bark full force, landing with a resounding _crunch_.

"Oi! What're you going?!" Allan jerked up and grabbed my shoulders.

"Get off me!" I growled, throwing my other fist.

"Ryialyn, I really have no idea what to do-"

"It's Ryia!" I snapped. I kept hitting and kicking and punching. Allan's grip on me loosened as my knuckles became bloodier and bloodier and my toes became number and number. I sank to the ground, tears pooling in my eyes. I swallowed, determinedly trying to get rid of the lump in my throat. _Still not crying, still not crying. I won't cry ..._

I looked over the village, staring past the tree to gaze at the glittering Fairy village.

I paused ... no, I wasn't imagining it ... but ... no ... _Horses?_

I felt Allan sit down next to me, a small_ Oof _escaped his lips as he flumped to the ground. "Listen love," he started, but I wasn't listening. _Horses? No way ... _I sat up, stretching my back like a meerkat. _What the Hell ...? _I glanced over the valley, scanning for anything out of the ordinary.

Then I saw it.

There was barely enough light to see it, but there were several horses ... several horses and a carriage by the looks of it parked just outside of my house.

"... and I just though- well what I meant was, I just mean ... since your Father told me not to talk to you ..."

I squinted in the distance. A dark, hooded figure stalked out of the house towards the dark shadow of the carriage. "Who is that ..." I hadn't realised that I had spoken out loud until Allan gave an exasperated sigh.

"Did you listen to a single word of that?"

"What?" I hadn't really noticed he had been talking. The carriage turned and headed off in the direction of the city. I stood up. "Where are you going?" Allan asked.

"To follow the carriage." I started half walking, half jogging towards the shortcut that led to the city.

"Hey!" Allan called after me. "You can't just ... _go._"

I sighed and rolled my eyes. He was slowing me down. "_Fine_, you can come with me if you want."

"I can't come with you!" He protested but stood up and jogged down the hill towards me. "Where are you going anyway?"

"Into Nottingham." I replied, squinting to try and locate the path.

"Oh my God!" I whipped around and stared at his bemused expression. "Do you actually listen at all?"

"_What?_"

I suddenly realised that I hadn't really spoken to him about my plans. "Sorry. Um. I saw someone coming out of my house, they went into a carriage, then the carriage looked like it was going to Nottingham."

He raised an eyebrow. "So, you're planning to go into Nottingham ...why?"

I groaned in frustration. There was no way I was telling Allan about what had just happened with my parents. No way. "I just ... need to know." I answered lamely and turned round, searching for the path again.

"Well, I guess I'm coming with you then." He sighed in defeat.

"What? No. It's fine, you don't need to come." I turned round to face him, annoyance creeping into my voice. _Actually ..._

"Oh right. And I'm supposed to explain to your Father that I let you wander off to the city in the middle of the night? You're having a laugh, love."

The idea hit me like I'd been slapped. _Why didn't I think of that before dammit ..._ "Wait, no, you can come. Do you know how I can get in and out of the city. At night?"

"'Course I do!" He looked like he had been highly offended. "What kind of an Outlaw do you take me for?"

"Well, so far a pretty rubbish one." I grinned. "No offence."

"None taken. You clearly just don't know talent when you see it."

"Oh really?" I asked, grabbing his sleeve and pulling him in the direction of the path.

"Well, yeah." He stopped and dangled a piece of string in front of my face. I squinted in the darkness, fruitlessly attempting to work out what it was. _If I didn't know better, I would think that that's ..._

"My pendant!" My hand shot up to my throat. It was gone, my throat was naked. "Allan, I swear to God if you don't give me that back right now I will-" I lunged forward, reaching for it but Allan pulled it out of my reach..

"Why? What's the big deal about it?"

I jumped, grabbing and snatching in the air for it, but Allan pulling from my hands each time. "Give it back! You are so going to regret this you self-important arse-"

"God, you can swear can't you?" He pulled it further out of my reach. "So where did a nice little girl like you learn to speak like- OW!"

I snatched the pendant from his grasp as he hopped on one leg in front of me, clutching his shin. "You didn't have to kick me ..."

"Well you were being a prat." I slipped the pendant over my head and tucked it roughly down my top. There was no way he'd get it now. I turned around and stalked off. "Don't steal my stuff, don't be a pig and we'll get along fine."

"Yes _ma'am._" I didn't have to turn around to know that he'd bowed.

_Idiotic, moronic arse. If I knew how to get into Nottingham he would **not** be coming. Stupid, unbelievably arrogant ... _I quickened my pace as I heard Allan crash through the forest behind me. Sensing him beside me I sped up into a jog. "C'mon ..." I grumbled. If I ever saw Allan again, after tonight; it would be _way _too soon ...

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><p><strong>AN: Hiiiiiiiii! *sighs* Yes, I think this will be the start of a beautiful friendship.**

**Thank you so, so, so much for sticking with the story, if you have been, it _does_ get a bit more exciting from here and onwards. Reviews are more than welcome! It'd be great to hear how you think the story is going and how everyone's personalities are developing, and also if I've written Allan _insanely _OOC. **

**Au revoir, mes amis! -DamRaccoon Xxxx**


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